


Woodshop

by wowthatsloud



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, crack ship, update: this is definitely a ship fic, you could definitely argue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowthatsloud/pseuds/wowthatsloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jennifer must find the door to the Barn soon, but she's having trouble. Enlisting the aid of Haven's own COP may well help matters. Early s4, I guess that's around episode three when they're trying to find it.</p><p>(tagged general but chapter 3 is shameless, shameless smut, and definitely nsfw)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a decidedly patient process, but also decidedly trying on her nerves, so after the twelfth consecutive day spent doing ‘mind relaxation exercises’, Jennifer Mason realised she’d simply had enough. Spending time with Duke Crocker had fast become a highlight of her day-to-day, but the overall higher purpose to their time had always lingered in the crisp seasalt air atop the deck of his Cape Rouge, preventing any real chance of breaking through. She now sat cross-legged, opposite Duke, wearing a deep red bandanna and raising her clasped hands to the sky. Very spiritual indeed.

“Now relax, and bring your arms down towards you as you exhale,” Duke intoned, monk-like in his calm.  
 _Relax, bring your arms down and exhale._ Jennifer echoed the instruction in her mind, eyes closed, seeing only the shape of his words as her body followed them. Serenity washed over her at once, then-

_It’s not possible! Somebody must be lying, I left Haven to-_

A snatch of conversation stole through Jennifer’s head, shattering her peace of mind and making her screw her eyes tight in frustration.  
“What’s wrong?” Duke’s eyes popped open opposite her, making her realise that her internal annoyed growl was not as internal as she’d thought. The façade had lifted, she opened her eyes too to see Duke, genuine concern on his face, along with the question he had tried to shield her from hearing but was equally written all over his face: _“Did you hear anything?”_ Jennifer could call the half-shocked, half intrigued gaping expression from a mile away by now, as it was reserved solely for the freak-show with Barn-Radio in her head.

“I can’t do this any more,” Jennifer said, harsher than she’d intended.  
“Oh,” Duke began. He was in his element right then, perfectly at home in just a shirt and gilet despite the weather taking a turn for the nippy. Understandably then, Jennifer’s outburst deflated him significantly.  
“Sorry,” she said, relenting her tone. Duke was the first (and so far the only) friend she had made in town, and she could do better than burning her bridges. “It just feels like a cycle to me. Distracting myself, then hearing, then not hearing any more, then getting angry because I can’t hear any more…” Jennifer threw a rueful grimace towards Duke, who listened with patience. “It’s driving me insane. Or even more insane than I already am, anyway.” And for the number of days she’d been in Haven, she hadn’t gotten to see much of anything except the inside and outside of Duke’s boat. Stir crazy was an understatement.

Duke nodded slowly as she came to terms with what she’d said. “You’re probably right. I mean, everyone seems to think finding this door is pretty urgent, but it’s no help if you can’t ignore the stress of it.” A seagull squawked as it flew overhead, hovering for a while over the expanse of the sea before heading in the direction of Haven’s lighthouse, barely the size of Jennifer’s thumb in the distance. The boat rocked gently under the lapping waves.  
“And maybe there are other ways to make me achieve a perfect balanced mind,” Jennifer added. “Not necessarily the gung-ho meditation crap.”  
Duke was deadpan. “Gung-ho meditation crap?”  
“Well…” Jennifer trailed off, thinking she’d stepped her foot in it, but finding relief as Duke broke into laughter. Jennifer joined him.  
“If you think there are other ways that can help you, go ahead and find them. Anyone that has a problem with that can answer to me,” Duke said, stooping to wrap his arms around the petite brunette. “Selfish side of me wants you to stick around, though.” He squeezed every ounce of that sentiment into her until Jennifer felt somewhat like a tube of toothpaste. Passing the days with Duke was a wonderful time, and part of her would be sad to turn her back to it too, but there was a job to be done for her. If that meant stepping off the Cape Rouge for a while, then that’s what it had to be. 

Getting off the boat, she had no real plan except a leisurely meandering walk through the picturesque streets of the quaint fishing village. After a string of mainly residential streets, she finally stumbled upon some shops, family eateries and bookstores beside small art galleries and general convenience stores. It was an interesting town, and a refreshing walk, quiet too until the police cruiser that sped around the corner only to stop a few hundred yards ahead of her. She grew unnerved as she watched it complete a point turn to drive in the direction it came, seemingly right at her. It stopped right beside her, the driver’s window rolled down to reveal Dwight Hendrickson, Haven’s resident Chief of Police, wearing a mixture of frenzied purposefulness and concern on his features. 

“Get in the car.” His voice was gruff, and carried a weighty authority that meant that Jennifer could only silently oblige, too stunned to actually reply. She was thrown off massively by the tension exuded by the police chief next to her. It was a tension she was familiar with, that she’d seen at least once in nearly every male she’d known growing up, but perhaps never as strong as this. During the hardest times, what was left of a person once the other layers were stripped away was a raw desperation of someone with a bad gut feeling they were heading towards a fight. Seeing the chief’s fists clenched around the driving wheel, she knew that was exactly what he was heading into.

They drove in stoic silence for the ten minutes or so of their journey, not least because Jennifer felt she had nothing worth saying to break the look of grim determination etched onto the police chief’s face. They pulled into the parking area behind the station, Dwight jumped out and strode towards the passenger side where Jennifer was getting out, closing the door behind her. A firm hand led her by the small of her back, speeding up her normal pace to the few steps to the back entrance, Dwight surveying the immediate area as he followed.

It was only after closing his office door behind them (not before checking the hallway left and right) that the chief eased up somewhat. But to say he was even remotely easy was false in itself.

“Why aren’t you with Crocker?” The bass in his voice carried the words like an accusation.  
“I don’t know,” Jennifer said defensively, throwing his tone right back at him. “I wanted to do something else today. What of it?”  
Dwight crossed his arms. “The deal was you worked with Crocker to get you hearing the barn again. Right?” His eyes locked on to her from where he stood, beginning their interrogation. Even from several paces away, it felt like the chief towered over her with his very presence.  
“Right,” Jennifer nodded, not backing down from his icy gaze.  
“So what exactly were you doing out there?”  
“What me and Duke were trying wasn’t working!” Jennifer had to stand by her decision, despite it looking less and less like the right one by how Chief Hendrickson was looking at things. “We gave it a go, but it’s been two weeks, and we weren’t getting anywhere. I had to try something different if I was ever really going to find that… barn you people are so obsessed about.” 

Dwight relented, relaxing his posture and going over to sit in his office chair. He took a few seconds for thought, running a hand from his short blond hair to his chin, exhaling deeply. As he looked up now his eyes were filled with much more kindness and understanding than they had been just moments prior, but his voice was still hesitant as he spoke, one hand remaining at the back of his head. “Not the greatest timing in the world,” he said softly. “The Guard have been impatient for a good few days now waiting for you to find this thing, and I think they’ve reached their tipping point.”  
“Well the stupid Guard can go to hell!” Jennifer replied. “This is not something I can control whenever I want to.”  
“And I realise that,” Dwight said, “but considering their position at this time, think about what it looks like having you strolling around without a care in the world.” He sat up to say these next words to her, blue eyes piercing in their severity. “The Guard really aren’t playing around any more, Jennifer. When they get… desperate like this, there’s no telling what they could do." His allusion to the very sinister, very real hostilities in the town silenced Jennifer for a while. It was nearly impossible for her to digest the fact that all of this was happening in a place that looked straight out of an overpriced tourist’s postcard. But Haven had always had its cracks, only now they were shifting to chasms in front of her very eyes. Surely people weren’t this bad? One look at Dwight’s expression answered that. He had the look of a man that had seen things and been through things, if not with this particular group then one just like them. She only hoped it could do them some good.

Dwight got out of his chair, surprisingly nimble for his size. “I’ll take you back to the Gull now, if you want. Just lay low for today, alright?” Jennifer readily agreed to taking the lift back to her temporary accommodation above Duke’s bar. If there was anything she was expert at, it was laying low. Just give her some food and a stack of rented DVDs and she could be set for days. Maybe her big revelation would come midway through a rewatch of Princess Diaries, she thought to herself with amusement.

They took Dwight’s truck this time, pulling up at the Grey Gull about a half hour later. Jennifer reached for the door, but a thought struck her and she turned towards the driver’s seat to ask her question. “Chief,” she began.  
“Dwight,” he corrected politely.  
“Dwight," she said, "How am I supposed to know if those creepy Guard people come after me?” After manifesting itself, the worry only increased as she said it aloud. Almost as if saying it would make it come true.  
“They won’t try anything if you’re in your apartment. If it looks like you’re working really hard to find the barn, they’ll leave you alone.” Dwight said this with more certainty that he felt: of all his years knowing the Guard, he grew to learn that the only thing you could predict about them was unpredictability. That being said, they weren’t complete loose cannons. He only really felt uncomfortable with Jennifer idling on the streets, where she’d be a sitting duck for sure.

Jennifer curled a brown lock of hair around her finger, staring at it as if it held the answer to all her questions. “So what then, more yoga?” she said with uncertainty. She didn’t want to be boxed in because of the whims of an overzealous few. Saying that, she thought back to her first encounter with the group, where they were armed to the teeth with more guns than Jennifer had ever seen in any one place. Very big guns. Despite the bravado, she knew she would do a thousand downward-facing dogs if one of them happened to be aimed at her.  
“Not much point in doing something that doesn’t work,” Dwight agreed.  
“I still need to find the right focus to hear the barn, but I just don’t know what else to do…” Jennifer trailed off in a half statement, half question, leaving space for Dwight’s input should he choose to give any.

Jennifer watched a humoured grin rise to Dwight’s face, while he turned to her and said “You know, I have to say I’m not particularly an expert in the best manners of locating supernatural barn-houses. But there’s stuff going on in Haven, if you look. I know Sue Potters runs a book club every first Thursday of the month, for example. And I think she also does knitting.”  
Jennifer’s large olive eyes glazed over at the mere thought. Clearing her mind was one thing, being bored witless was another entirely. “Maybe something a little more… active?”  
“I think there’s a group of guys into extreme white-water kayaking,” he said, after a thought.  
“Extreme?”  
“Yeah. They go off of waterfalls. Big ones.”  
Jennifer looked to catch Dwight’s expression, saw he was deadly serious, and replied. “That doesn’t sound like my kind of thing.” Dwight shrugged, as if it had been a fair suggestion.  
Jennifer asked a follow-up: “What do _you_ do to kick back, Chief?”  
That stumped him. The idea of partaking in any sort of recreational activity had become alien to him, and he answered her question haltingly. “Well… I like to fish, I guess.” The last time he had as much as held a fishing rod was six years ago. “Read, maybe…”  
“What about anything that doesn’t involve sitting down for extended periods?” Jennifer probed.  
Dwight went to say he really couldn’t think of anything, when a thought occurred to him. “Actually I’ve been wanting to get back into woodworking for the longest while, but I’ve never found the time.”  
“Woodworking?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Like building chairs and shelves and all of that?” Jennifer’s excitement grew.  
“Well yes, but-”  
“That’s perfect!” Jennifer clapped. “I’ve always been into the idea of making a thing. Like an actual _thing_ that I made myself, you know?" She held her hands up as if she was holding her handiwork up, pride shining in her eyes. "Something that’s mine to keep around and look at and show people because I built it with my own two hands... I’m going to make a table,” she told Dwight matter-of-factly.  
“Where are you going to get the lumber for a table? Or the tools?”  
“I don’t know, where do you?”  
“I have a band-saw and sander in my garage,” he said. Jennifer turned up her hands as if to point out the obvious, raising her eyebrows leadingly. Dwight looked at her for a while, contemplating the suggestion implicit in her playful expression, weighing up choices and factors in his head. “Yeah, okay. Alright then,” he relented, at which Jennifer made a fist in triumph. “It is my day off tomorrow, after all," he said half-heartedly, knowing perfectly well this was a fabrication: the Haven Chief of Police would never have a day off work as long as there were Troubles in the town. The position made no bones about being a 24 hour, 7 day week shift -- Dwight had long lost count of the interrupted weekends and middle-of-the-night calls he had made since taking the job, and he hadn’t even had it that long. Still, it was his day off in name, and it was nice to pretend, no matter that the thought of having some time with no higher purpose than his own enjoyment was as comforting as it was fanciful.


	2. Chapter 2

Dwight and Jennifer stood in his garage, that was flooded with afternoon sunlight from the cracked window and shutters. It was well maintained for the most part, save for a shelf filled to bursting with all manners of assorted parts and junk. A disused bicycle stood next to it with its front wheel missing, and beside that was a belt sander underneath its cover. On the other side, a workbench was stood up against the wall, well equipped with hammers and power tools and other unidentifiable shapes that Jennifer couldn’t particularly name. In the middle sat a low, square worktable, equipped with dark metal industrial vices on either side.

“Okay, I have a lot of wood left over still, so you can do pretty much anything you want with it.” Dwight stood next to lumber parts of all shapes and sizes, disused from past projects, which he held his hands over to show her. “So knock yourself out with this, I guess.” He picked out a two-by-four, threw it up in the air one-handed and caught it, grinning proudly at himself for the effort. A light-grey t-shirt took the place of his usual HPD heavy jacket and battle armour today, and shedding the cumbersome attire made him take on a more relaxed demeanour, Jennifer thought. And she much preferred it on him. Dwight moved with a lightness she had yet to see in him before, even in doing nothing more than lengthening out a measuring tape to hold against the timber. His movements were so much lighter, happier even – like a beached fish that had found water again. He worked efficiently, marking the wood with a pencil, then moving over to where Jennifer was standing, reaching an arm past her to a drawer she was in front of. 

“Sorry about that.” Jennifer went to move out of his way, while Dwight adjusted to reach over the other side of her, thinking he’d move to allow her more space. Both of them ended up further in each other’s paths, Dwight with a small, pretty brunette in his way, Jennifer with a tall, broad-chested man in hers.  
“That’s my bad,” Dwight looked at her amusedly, finally reaching the drawer while Jennifer held two stumpy blocks of wood, feeling generally inept. “What are you working on, then?” He had one leg bent so he could be eye-level with the drawer as he sifted through it, and the closed space swallowed most of his question.  
“You know, I’m not sure. Suddenly the table doesn’t seem like a great idea.” 

Dwight straightened up then, pulling himself upright with a fistful of iron-cast coathooks in each hand as he turned to face her. A trace of sawdust had marked itself on his hairline. “What have you made before? It can be easier to start with what you know already.”  
“I’ve never made anything before,” Jennifer admitted.  
Dwight placed hands on his hips. “Oh. Really?” Jennifer nodded, unsure whether Dwight was mocking her with feigned surprise or if it was genuine. “Oh. Well, the first thing I ever made was a jewellery box.” She was thrown even further off – what use did he have for one of those?  
“You never struck me as the kind of guy to need somewhere to put his jewellery,” Jennifer said, feeling him out for any signs of sarcasm.  
“Well, it was for my mom…” He trailed off, staring into space, deep in his own thoughts for a while.  
The silence fleshed out over several seconds, prompting Jennifer to snap him out of his reverie.“So, are they relatively easy?”  
“Yeah, definitely,” Dwight nodded, reluctantly called back to the present. “Depending on how you want to make the thing, if you want box joints, or pegs, and if you want a hinged lid or not.”  
Jennifer stared blankly. 

“Never mind, it’s all a lot simpler than it looks. You’ll pick it up in no time, just watch.” He took the blocks of wood from her hands, scrutinised them with a gritted jaw and narrowed eyes for several seconds, and then gave them back. “Good choice.” Jennifer perked up at her clearly superior wood-selecting skills as Dwight pulled down a few tools from the back bench. He laid them out, pointed to each one and outlined its uses before describing to Jennifer how she was going to make her wonderful new box. She nodded as she received the instruction, still somewhat uncertain but taking the items in her hands nonetheless. It was time for her to go out on her own two wobbly Bambi’s legs, into the big wide world of woodworking.

Dwight surprised her in being a far more tolerant instructor than she’d first pegged him for, always making himself clear, never losing patience or hovering over her before deciding it was best for him to do it himself. That was unfortunately more of the style she’d become used to, starting with her mother when she first became a teen and expressed a desire to learn how to cook. Young Jennifer was normally relegated to cutting onions while watching the older woman balance filleting with seasoning and boiling all at once. While she may have grown up to become a pretty lousy chef, she was at least really, _really_ good at cutting onions.  
Jennifer had fast learned she was a magnet for this attitude: whether it was the more well-intentioned males informing her she couldn’t _possibly_ carry that luggage by herself, or the high-school jerks scoffing at the idea of her getting to grips with the higher aspects of sports, Jennifer’s dainty appearance had shut her out of a lot during her lifetime, and now, as an adult, she was positively intolerant of it. Dwight looked like the hybrid of all of those men in one – tall, square-jawed and muscular, carrying himself with a quiet assurance that could only come from a lifetime of being told that he _could._ Yesterday’s stunt had only proved that to her, and she mentally prepared to expect more of the same old from him.

So she was pleased to be proven wrong here, given her own room to make progress and mistakes. For all the time they were together, he never assumed her to be anything except for a fully capable grown woman, and she relished being proven wrong. The behaviour was at odds with the man that maintained she couldn’t be out on the streets alone in broad daylight, but recalling the look in his eyes, she realised it was fear of what the Guard could do that made him so inclined, not a judgement of his perception of her. Dwight worked diligently at his own task opposite her, only pausing to pass helpful words of encouragement, and once to help bandage the small cut she’d opened up on her hand. 

“Maybe this is a sign,” Jennifer said to him half-jokingly, wiping away the blood that had dribbled down her finger with an antiseptic wipe. “Big man upstairs thinks I should quit while I’m behind.” Jennifer’s eyes flicked up, to Dwight, trying to catch an expression or nod of agreement, but his face was neutral as he ripped open the band-aid.  
“Nonsense,” Dwight murmured, bringing her hand up to sight so he could manoeuvre the band-aid over the reddened cut. His fingers moved through hers, dwarfing them, but moving swiftly all the same. “First battle scar. If anything this is your big push to keep going. You’re doing great,” he said, smiling and giving her hand a small squeeze before setting it down.  
His sincerity touched her. “I appreciate that,” she said, beaming right back at him. Dwight’s face changed to something unintelligible, but only for a second, and he turned to face his work before she could try to read it. 

The box was coming along, too. It was slightly goofy looking, but Jennifer was proud of it nonetheless, as it had taken her hours of hard work to even get to this stage. Her tired back and shoulders could attest to that. So it was slightly frustrating when, in what should have been one of the easier steps, she kept splitting the wood, attempt after attempt after attempt. After the last time, she swore unapologetically loudly, cursing the little hunk of tree for all she was worth. 

“What’s the problem?” Dwight came over, with a smudge of varnish on his cheek to match the sawdust still in his hair. He was more than a little startled at Jennifer’s violent outburst. Once he gained wind of the problem, however, he asked Jennifer to try it again while he watched. Everything was done to textbook precision, which was quite impressive for a complete beginner, Dwight thought as he observed her work. Nevertheless it was still the same result – the tiny segment of wood would split almost perfectly in two, joining the pile of splintered sections from her other failed attempts.  
“You see!” Jennifer said, growing increasingly maddened. “It keeps doing it!”  
“Go again,” Dwight said. Jennifer started to line the pieces up, but this time Dwight reached around her, holding the two sections together in a way that would have been impossible only using the vice. Dwight’s presence behind her proved incredibly distracting; the arms either side of her tensed firmly as the strong torso at her back. Despite herself, she focused on what they were holding, using his extra leverage to finally get the pieces together, and intact.  
“There you go.” He carefully released the wood pieces, setting them down in front of her and stepping aside. “That part’s actually pretty difficult to do by yourself. Kind of impossible, even.”  
“And you didn’t think to tell me that?”  
His eyes trailed off. “I didn’t think that was something you’d hear from me,” he said carefully, watching her for a reaction. She gave none. 

Instead she opted to pick up her file, and work down the rough edges of her box that currently looked harsh and uninviting. Before she could begin though, voices erupted as loudly as if she’d been standing in the middle of a crowd of people, and she closed her eyes to pay full attention to one in particular. They were the words of a stranger, yet at the same time, a woman she could have known all her life. 

_William, I just don’t see it. How exactly are we meant to get out of here?_

And then strangely, helpfully, an image pulsed through her mind, vividly manifesting itself against the backs of her eyelids, saturated in colour and so defined she could have sworn she was there, with the wind lifting the sweet smell of dew into her nostrils. It was a grassy knoll surrounded by trees, empty save for a forlorn looking tree-stump. Somewhere, a foghorn sounded 

Jennifer gasped audibly, recovering from the hijack of all her bodily sensations at once. Her heart felt like it was wrenching in two from the experience, but she was nothing but jubilant as Dwight looked over worriedly. 

“I think I know where the door is,” she said simply. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (this is nsfw)

He was sat on a folding chair, leaning over to tie a shoelace when she realised it. Maybe it was a contact high from the varnish, or a dizzy spell from all those hours standing up, or the way the setting sun silhouetted his strong features through the glass panes, dipping the jawline, nose and eyes in a golden glaze. Looking up, catching her looking, he gave a small smile, not expecting her to close the two steps between them so suddenly, and certainly even less expecting her mouth on his before he could register what was happening.

Jennifer threw herself into him completely, running a hand along his hair as she deepened her kiss, tongue tracing his lip, revelling in what she’d dreamt of all along. Dwight meanwhile was far more reserved, gentlemanly even, hardly moving to her touch. 

Or not moving at all. Jennifer broke off mere seconds later, moving herself away from the statuesque Dwight. He was completely unresponsive.  
“Shy one, are you?” Jennifer attempted to mask the embarrassment and hurt in her words, to no avail. Bitter disappointment rose like bile in her throat, as Dwight gawped at her, that unreadable expression on his face again. It was quickly replaced by fury in Jennifer’s stomach as she finally attempted to disengage herself from him, muttering choice words at him in an effort to make him feel just as awful. 

Strong hands held her firmly in place though, and this time it was Jennifer’s turn to be confused. That unreadable expression on his face had evolved, and as it was more pronounced now Jennifer questioned how she could have ever mistaken it for anything other than profound lust of the highest order. The hands on Jennifer’s waist now pulled her down, she was flush on his torso, feeling nothing but his arms and his mouth and his body urgently seeking hers. Dwight kissed her passionately, parting lips, greedily devouring her as she moved a hand along the side of his face, into his short, fair hair.

They broke for air, each looking significantly more dishevelled than they had been. A tuft of Dwight’s hair was hiked at the back of his head where Jennifer ran her hands through it, and Jennifer’s lipstick was now as much on Dwight’s face as it was on her.  
“My make-up looks great on you,” Jennifer murmured, observing the rosy marks that peppered Dwight’s mouth and cheeks. She moved her legs to sit astride him, but the reaction from Dwight told her he had other ideas. Instead, he picked her up almost effortlessly, moving their entwined bodies a few paces forward, where he set Jennifer down on the work table, positioning himself securely between her legs.

Jennifer’s lips parted in a sigh as she felt the unmistakable jean-clad hardness against her, while Dwight put his focus on the side of her neck, mouth moving lower and lower as a hand raised underneath her blouse to unclasp her bra. The friction between her legs mounted to become unbearable – his every movement ground at her hips, building tension as she felt herself steadily growing wetter against him. One hand reached to his waistband in between gasps of breath, undoing the button and zipper, revealing him, erect, straining against the material of his boxer briefs. 

What was left of her blouse was partly unbuttoned, partly torn in Dwight’s fervour. She was radiant, exceptionally alluring, and he took a second to drink in her beauty before brushing his mouth over her silky skin, stopping to tease a hardened nipple with his tongue, feeling her fingers tense at the back of his neck. Every part of her was heightened, and even his most delicate touch sent ecstasy into her nerves.

He moved lower yet, kneeling down to lift her skirt aside, shifting the material of her underwear to slide his tongue inside her, Jennifer bucking her hips and crying out his name, driven insensate from pleasure. He licked and teased her with his mouth, tasting her and wanting more. Her fingers ran through his hair, trying not to pull but struggling, and moaning helplessly with the building, mounting sensation overtaking her. He stopped when she was close, and the cold air where he had been drove Jennifer insane with desire.  
Dwight stood, once again offering a view of his cloth-bound erection, the one thing Jennifer had to have. She reached a hand over his waistband, gently working his shaft and lifting her eyes to watch Dwight’s pupils dilate. His breaths grew quick and shallow with her strokes, became low groans as she continued, and she only stopped to tug his jeans and boxers down, finally releasing him from the restricting cloth.

 _Wow._ He was somehow a lot bigger than she'd expected.

He immediately went to remove Jennifer’s skirt and soaked panties before she could do anything more, except raise her hips to allow him. Dwight locked eyes with Jennifer as he entered her, feeling the slick warmth around his length, silencing Jennifer’s wailing moans with a kiss that tasted of her. A low groan grew in Dwight's throat as he moved steadily inside her, rocking his hips, gradually increasing his pace as her sighs grew deeper and louder. She had already been worked close by his mouth, so it didn’t take much more for her to near her finish. Feeling his cock filling her, she came closer, and closer still, until she finally went over, crying out as she basked in the waves of her release, Dwight’s thrusts quickening all the while.

With Jennifer satisfied, he moved at his own pace, which happened to be slow as molasses, almost immediately agitating her into a renewed state of excitement. Leaning all the way over her, breasts flattened against his chest, he kissed her again, twining their fingers together as their lips met, maintaining that steady, slow rhythm. Dwight whispered something against her lips, unintelligible but loaded with heavy, ecstatic lust. _She felt _so_ good._

Soon Jennifer was building again, not breaking his gaze as his gradual, steady thrusts built her to climax all over. She ran a hand from his chest down to his abdomen, where his pronounced abs tensed and relaxed with every stroke. All she could do was let her hand linger there, as his quickened movement once again pushed her closer, and closer, and _oh god,_ she gasped, delirious with pleasure, coming for the second time at his hand.

Feeling Jennifer clench around his hardness in her fit of orgasm brought Dwight even closer himself. Seeing her back arch, luxurious ease washing over her expression was almost too much to handle for him. He moved out of her, grabbing his throbbing cock, fully expecting to finish himself off to the sight of her. But even in her exhausted state, Jennifer was having none of it.

She hopped off the table on incredibly unsteady legs and placed a hand in the middle of his chest, playfully pushing him back and forcing him into the chair where it had all begun. Once he was seated, Jennifer took the tip of his erection in her mouth, flicking her tongue over it, up and down, Dwight’s hips twitching impatiently as he waited for her to take the rest of it. A steady groan grew at the back of his throat, breaking into grunts as she generously worked his length, moving up and down around it.  
Dwight’s chest heaved as he came closer, and he leaned his head back against the chair, panting a singular _oh, fuck_ , as he was worked to his finish. When he was about there, she released him from her mouth, instead and using her hand to finish him off. She wanted to _feel_ her handiwork – the sensation of his thick length twitching in her hand as well as the strangled shout he gave as he came, not to mention the sight of his seed being flung into the air as he breathed tiredly into her shoulder.

It took a few seconds for him to fully regain his breath, and if Dwight felt anything like he had made Jennifer feel, it would take another moment yet for him to string a sentence together. Jennifer looked to helpfully filled in the blanks.

“So, how about that wood-working, huh?”


End file.
